


Kiss Me

by merelypassingtime



Series: Meretricious Melodies [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Implied Rugbylock, M/M, Teenlock, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, all the cliches!, balletlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 09:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12861498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelypassingtime/pseuds/merelypassingtime
Summary: A bit of fluffy fluff featuring teen Ballet!Sherlock and Rugby!John.





	Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless, unrepentant fluffery. Forgive me.  
> A special thanks to my amazing, wonderful, and marvelous beta reader no-reason-at-all for not only betaing, but doing it unreasonably quickly so I could meet my arbitrary deadline. You rock!

It was a lovely autumn day; the air was crisp instead of biting and the sunlight shone through the clouds in golden rays like a Romantic painting. Not that Sherlock would admit that he knew anything about artwork. And he certainly didn’t have a special hallway in his mind palace with all of Edgar Degas works hanging in ornate gilt frames. Really.

When John had insisted on walking home from class instead of riding his bike, Sherlock had pretended to complain about the effort and wasted time, but he was sure that John knew his heart hadn’t been entirely in it. Usually riding behind John on his prized motorcycle was the undisputed highlight of Sherlock’s day. He loved the feeling of the wind rushing by him and the excuse to wrap himself around his friend’s solid frame, even if the helmet John made him wear did seriously disrupt his curls. Now though, with a rosy-cheeked John beside him pushing his bike and the pleasant crunch of leaves beneath his feet, Sherlock had to admit that maybe walking had its own appeal. Particularly since John was taking such an unfeigned interest in his rambling retelling of his day.

“Now Molly wants us to dance to some horrible pop song for the winter recital!”

“Well, it is her turn to pick, isn't it?”

“Yes, but I didn't expect her to have such abysmal taste.”

“She didn't complain when you chose that weird thing with all the chanting last time.”

"Philip Glass isn't weird! He is a-"

John cut him off, "A genius who recognizes that music is inherently mathematical and a bunch of other stuff. Yeah, I remember, and I'll look him up next time I need some wind for my sailboat or whatever."

"Philistine."

"Snob."

"I am not; I just have excellent taste. Too good in fact, if Molly is really going to make me dance to her terrible music."

"Come on, it can't be that bad."

"It can, and it is! You know what, here," Sherlock said, and stopped walking. He shrugged one shoulder strap of his backpack off and swung the pack around so he could unzip the front pocket. While he dug around in it he explained. "She loaned me the CD. Said the song would grow on me."

John rolled his eyes at that. "God, I've no idea how Molly has known you for all these years and still thinks anything can change your mind."

Sherlock thought about all the opinions he had changed since meeting John, about friendship and the advisability of caring and the attractiveness of men in rugby shorts, and didn’t say anything. Instead his fingers finally found the bulky plastic object he had been seeking, and he pulled out his CD player. “Ah, here it is.” He flipped the power on and offered one ear bud to John, putting the other one in his own ear. “I’ve blocked out which track it was, but the song itself has been seared into my mind. Give me a second and prepare to be horrified.”

John sighed, but he put down the motorcycle's kickstand and leaned over it to reach for the ear bud. The short length of the cord between the two meant that Sherlock had to take a step closer to hand it to him. When John had it in their faces were only a few inches apart, and Sherlock found himself gazing into the most beautiful eyes in the world. He knew they were; he had conducted a thorough study.

He realized that he was staring and, more worryingly, that he had no idea how long he had been doing it, so he looked quickly down at the CD player. He hit the play button, listened to a few seconds, then made an 'Ugh' noise and skipped to the next track.

It was after the fourth 'Ugh' that the strumming notes of the song Molly had picked out began. He made a point of remembering the track number this time, determined to never be forced again to listen through the CD again. He looked back up at John, a sarcastic remark already forming on his lips. Somehow in the time he had been looking down he'd blocked out how close together they were, now his complaint died as the irresistible nearness of John hit him.

He couldn't help the small gasp that escaped him. The sound drew John's eyes down to his lips, and Sherlock watched spellbound as John's tongue flickered out to wet his own lips.

Later they would never agree on which person began the kiss, but it hardly mattered. With the autumn sunlight suffusing the world with its golden hues, and the woman singing, “Kiss me,” softly in their ears, and their faces already so near, it was inevitable that their lips would meet.

It was all too brief, a quick, chaste peck more than a proper kiss, but it still froze Sherlock in that moment, his eyes shut and breathing uneven as his sense were overloaded.

The moment was shattered by John, who for some reason began to laugh.

At first Sherlock was indignant, watching his friend react to their first kiss with great spasms of mirth, and the look on his face only made John laugh more. Then Sherlock began to worry that John was laughing at him for that kiss. Doubt squeezed his heart, making him think that maybe John found it hilarious that Sherlock had ever thought that John might want to kiss him.

The panic must have shown on his face because John sobered almost instantly, saying,“Hey, no, no, no. The kiss was wonderful, and I have been wanting it for such a long time... No, it is just that, doesn't this mean that this is going to be our song?”

“Our song? What-” but then Sherlock’s mind opened to the very scant page it had on dating and horror dawned on his face. “Oh, god. It is, isn't it.”

“Yup.”

“And there is no chance that you are going to listen to me about how stupid a tradition it is to have a song, are you?”

“Nope,” John answered gleefully. “So you best do a great job dancing to it.”

“I hate you.” Sherlock said, but it was not very convincing.

“No, you really don't,” John whispered as he leaned forward, pressing his smiling lips to Sherlock’s again for a much longer second kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The song is 'Kiss Me' by Sixpence None the Richer, sorry I wasn't able to make that entirely clear in the story without it sounding awkward.  
> And I dare anyone to listen to 'Einstein on the Beach,' by Phillip Glass and not conclude that it is Sherlock's type of music. ;)


End file.
